Regular Poem: Thursday

25 Apr

the worst

except for certain mondays
and an odd tuesday
and the fridays where you’re burnt out and smoldering

actually truthfully
thursdays are the worst
is more a truism a mantra an idiom
than a statement that retains any real meaning

because it’s all the worst
and has been
and will be being

i shouldn’t be allowed
to set the mood anywhere
and yet people almost always let me

kind gentle al exists
but i don’t naturally access her
i ought to try harder
instead of letting myself
be myself
who’s such a thursday of a person


Regular Poem: What Ought to Be the Truth

24 Apr

you ever have that kind of dream

(or read too much of something too late at night when your body’s already half in stasis and your mind’s already half-dreaming or fantasize about something immediately upon waking when your brain is between gears and can’t super discern whether it’s dreaming or daydreaming but it indulges itself regardless)

that an image of it appears
in the full sunlight of a two pm
and it takes you a minute to process
that it isn’t a legitimate memory
that it isn’t something real and tangible that actually happened

and the moment you realize it’s not real
is one of the least real-feeling moments
of your life
because you’re essentially living in multiple dimensions at once
and then abruptly
it’s just the one dimension
and all the other dimensions that you can still access emotionally
and even to an extent existentially
are rationally fake?

there’s a veil there
gauzy and romantic and easily ripped if touched
by fingertips
or certain neural pathways

the illusion shatters
and you shatter with it a little

i really thought as i aged
i’d turn into one of my parents
i would never have put money on blanche dubois
and yet here we are

i guess i’ll worry more about it
if someone tries to turn the light on

Regular Poem: Types of Talkative

23 Apr

i prefer a chatterbox to a windbag
and either of them over a blabbermouth
it depends on the gossip

idle words shouldn’t proceed out of anyone’s mouth
but what is should
other than an admonition difficultly and rarely followed

a chatterbox can be engaging and fun
although so much that they say may be tuned out for long periods
a windbag is usually boring or condescending
a blabbermouth talks every thought that comes to their mind and sometimes some thoughts ought to be mercy killed
a gossip
well a gossip is a good ally
but don’t get on their bad side

a witty conversationalist
knows boundaries
which is something the others don’t
but sometimes they’re a little too limited and limiting
and you end up preferring a nice chatterbox instead
or even a benevolent gossip

give me somebody who can work up a good rant
get redder and spittier as they elucidate
end with some dramatic gesticulation
restart the rant five minutes later with
“and another thing”

even people who don’t like to talk
have at least one good rant in them

what classification am i you may be wondering
depends on whom you ask
and what day it is

Regular Poem: The Daring Old Lawn Mower on the Flying Trapeze

22 Apr

on the upside
i did mow before i had to weedeat
my entire lawn

but you know me and yardwork
we’re a bad combo

like mixing your liquors
when you can already feel a migraine coming on

like a bull in the china shop
he’s just caught his wife having an affair in

like the gas stove with a faulty burner
in the breakroom at the dynamite factory
where it’s 1926 and pretty unregulated safety-wise and everybody chain smokes

we’re a bad combo
in almost all circumstances
but especially
when i’m already on the tightrope
over the waves already playing on the wurlitzer

they could say i’m making a mountain out of a molehill
but have
ever accidentally run over a molehill
with a shitty push mower manufactured in 2005
and just barely clinging to life as it is

(that ambiguous phrasing was deliberate
the mower and i both
are grasping at threads
chugging seafoam
sputtering upon waking and
coughing up half-mangled sticks
billowing blue smoke
tires ragged and catching in the soft earth)

i didn’t cry this time
at any rate

but the circus music is still playing

Regular Poem: Not Sure About Former DAs Who Are Now Ambulance Chasers, Either, TBH

21 Apr

don’t get the wrong idea here
on the two points you’re probably worried about

1. i do know how a lot of professions work
2. i do have friends who are not imaginary

but that said

every time i’m talking to someone
who’s asking me a lot of intrusive questions
that i’m uncomfortable answering
and i can feel myself getting

riled up
worked up
torqued up

(i gravitate to the slangy partitives
[verb-preposition combos that work together as a verb–evidenced by their unit’s synonimity with a single word]
from an indiscernible old-timey western and or/southern dialect
they seem to fit the best for the kind of
[see what i mean about synonimity]
i get
just a lathered frenzy
where i want to julia sugarbaker rant
and point out every personal professional moral intellectual and financial flaw i’ve ever noticed
about the person i’m angry with)

i imagine
the former da who’s now an ambulance chaser
standing next to me
in a kind of ugly statement necklace
sloshing a little scotch onto my shoulder as she half-drunkenly advises me
“you don’t have to answer that
nor should you”

thanks counselor
i know
that’s why i made up a version of you to say it to me
a version that’s like a lady version
of my erstwhile dad
and ain’t that a kick in the head

i ought to invest in a regular ghost
and be done with it

Regular Poem: I May or May Not Have Any Idea What Realtors Actually Do, Part II

20 Apr

as it turns out
i was right
partially anyway

or maybe i willed it into existence

probably not
that’s never worked for me ever before
it was probably all just fortuitous
just some personalities luckily flung together
just how you have to be when you’re in that business

like you don’t have to be a priest and therapist as a chiropractor
although a lot of them i know are
you could get by and prosper
just adjusting
asking no personal questions
giving no hugs
saying no prayers
but God sent me to mine because she does those things
and i need those things

but a realtor has to know your sins and your troubles
so she can absolve them and ameliorate them
to sell your stupid house for a reasonable price
has to be kind and personable
to gain you as a client
has to be caring and honest
to buy you a house you’ll like

so i feel vindicated

i did confess
and i did ask about houseboats

i didn’t cry in her arms
i’m sure that comes later

Regular Poem: I May or May Not Have Any Idea What Realtors Actually Do

19 Apr

don’t worry
i’m still hating rosebushes and feeling romantic about the full moon
still saying plenty of weird stuff to plenty of middle-aged ladies
still being super good looking and mad that no one will turn their brain on about it

just out here
and being known and unknown
and being scared and aggressive
and being loud and reticent

just over here
sort of

i’m meeting a realtor tomorrow
and i’ve been thinking about how our conversation will go
like will i start with
“i read a book recently about a suicidal ex-beauty queen realtor and–”
or will i start with
“how do you feel about fratricide”
or will i be normal
cool collected professional
or will i stutter and ask stupid questions

it’s a crapshoot
nobody to blow on my dice either
and i just today lost sixty bucks at the casino
so my luck’s not looking so hot

“what are you looking for” she might say
“fuck rosebushes” i might reply
“i’m sorry what” she might say brow scrunched pen freezing above her clipboard
“what i meant to say was do you have any houseboats”

of course she doesn’t
this isn’t fucking sausalito

i’m kind of excited though
a new opportunity for a new friend
someone new to look at and tell my troubles to in a new context
i feel like i’d be the perfect best friend for a realtor
she could call me and be like
“this house i’m thinking of listing might be haunted
will you come with me”
and i’d be like
“duh girl”

it’s probably a bad sign
that i’m fantasizing about
an instant connection and intimate friendship
with someone who just wants a commission out of me
but it’s so sexy to me somehow

she’ll know where i live
literally and metaphorically
what mental emotional journey i took to get there
what i want out of a home and why
it’s personal

but i’m the girl who makes her chiropractor her priest and pychiatrist
so why shouldn’t i do the same
to a realtor

it probably goes without saying
i’m intrigued by old-timey medicine
the kind that’s half alchemy half superstition
herbs and poisons and potions and bizarre theories
no training no regulation
just ideas and pluck

i feel the urge to confess a lot of things to this woman i haven’t even met yet
and she’ll scroll through her offerings
she’ll be wearing attractive reading glasses as she does so
and she will find the perfect thing
she will read my mind and fix my problems

don’t worry
i’m still very stupid about so many things
but at least i’m trying something new

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